


Trip and Fall

by orphan_account



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Depression, Forced Retirement, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mental Illness, Paralysis, Romance, Slight Ableism, Support, grand prix finals, i know little to nothing about medical issues, victor returns to skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-14 10:52:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9178432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: All it takes is a slight miscalculation and bad timing. Victor's life changes forever.-"Victor Nikiforov has disappeared from the skating scene, hiding under the light of the recent accident involving his protege, Katsuki Yuuri!"If only Victor had heard those words. His blood would boil, absolutely, but he wouldn't be able to hold back the guilt rising in his throat like bile. It was his fault.-





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know too much about Ice-skating or ice-related injuries so if anything seems off or too far-fetched feel free to give me some constructive criticism and I'll fix it up!

_“I really want to kiss that gold medal.”_

    Victor watches Yuuri skate away, his delicate eyes trained on the subtle flexes of Yuuri’s leg muscles as he spins into place to begin his free skate. “Yuri on ice” begins with the soft crescendo that Victor is so accustomed to, and the coach can feel himself begin to move along to the notes pouring from the speakers around the rink. Subtle flicks of the wrist and the gentle swaying of platinum hair lets the others around Victor know just how enraptured he is in his student’s free skate, or maybe just the student himself. Yuuri glides and gracefully moves his arms up as he skates, all the parts of his body and mind seeming to work together to create the beautiful performance everyone, including Victor, is expecting.

_“...And it seems Katsuki has altered his program a bit! He’s changed his triple loop to a triple flip!”_   Victor’s eyes widen in surprise at the change, but he is proud nonetheless. Yuuri has come so far in the past eight months, and the coach can feel his heart swell for a moment and a prideful laugh begin to bubble in his chest.

But it doesn’t last long,

    As Yuuri enters what everyone- what Victor- expects to be a triple flip, it’s obvious he’s planned to change this one as well, coming in a bit differently than he would if he were to perform the triple. Though, it only takes Victor, an experienced skater, half a second to realize that Yuuri’s body weight is slanted too far to the left to jump in the correct direction and that he’s coming in a bit too quickly. But before the coach can even call out, no matter how meaningless the action may be, Yuuri has sprung from the ice and into the jump, spinning into a Quad toe loop. And- just as he feared, upon touchdown, Yuuri’s body slides to the left too quickly, and he goes into the fall head first, his feet coming up from under him.  
Victor’s world slows to a crawl, time moving at an agonizing pace. This wasn’t an ordinary fall, but a small spark of hope burns a hole in Victor’s chest, his breath catching in his throat as, seemingly in slow motion, Yuuri tumbles to the ice below him.

_‘He’ll be fine. He’ll get right back up, like always.’_

But he didn’t.

     Yuuri’s body slides a few feet, time suddenly whipping back into place and Victor gasps for breath as he watches his student, his _fiancé_ , come to a chilling stop. Suddenly, “Yuri On Ice” isn’t the beautiful, inspiring tune Victor remembers it to be. Instead, it's now a haunting, slurred hum in the back of his head. The world seems to be spinning, and Victor’s knees weaken as the crowd begins to shout and the announcers call out the fall. It’s become incredibly apparent that the young, Japanese skater isn’t getting back up. Someone shakes Victor’s shoulder, but he can’t bring himself to acknowledge them, all the breath in his lungs is gone. Whatever is being called out over the speakers, the music now halted, sounds like it’s being yelled through water; a dull roar in Victor’s ears. As the shaken coach turns to dash from the edge of the rink to the entrance, desperate to get to his fallen student, someone beats him to it, moving out onto the ice, gliding on their skates to the body. Victor is able to clear his blurry vision (when did his eyes start watering?) enough to make out the toned figure of Christophe, who’s bending over Yuuri, his mouth moving wordlessly as he calls to the younger skater. Chris was due to perform next, already suited up to skate, and he wobbles slightly on his blades as he drops to his knees and shakes Yuuri lightly. Victor stumbles to the edge of the ice, jaw quivering as he waits for a reaction. Chris’s head hangs low, one of his hands resting on Yuuri’s shoulder, the other grabbing for Yuuri’s wrist.

_Checking for a pulse._

     Victor’s throat constricts and he bites his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. His shoulders shake as he holds in a sob. Accidents like this are rare in skating. People fall, some even have to leave the competition due to pulling a muscle or getting a fractured ankle, but _this_? This feels like it was pulled straight out of Victor’s absolute worst nightmare. If Yuuri had responded, even lifted his head, Victor wouldn’t be so distressed, but the idea of Yuuri being so viciously injured that he isn’t even able to open his eyes has Victor breaking down in front of the entire rink, on television.

“What’s happening?!”

     The voice belongs to Phichit Chulanont, one of Yuuri’s good friends and another competitor. Victor doesn’t know him that well, but the concern and stress in his voice that Victor shares catches the silver-haired man’s attention. He spins to face the nineteen-year-old, stepping forward to stand in front of him on shaky legs. Phichit makes eye contact with Victor before grabbing the older’s shoulders and shaking him back and forth. His eyes are shot wide and his mouth gapes at Victor, crystalline tears forming in the corners of his eyes. The rink is in chaos; the announcers calling out at random, the crowd yelling, and other skaters rushing to the edge of the rink to see what’s going on. Victor wrenches himself out of Phichit’s grip, stumbling back towards the entrance to the rink to see Yuuri. Chris has lifted Yuuri up, tenderly cradling the unconscious skater in his arms. (Victor hopes he’s just unconscious. His chest squeezes at the other possibility.) People, paramedics, Victor assumes, are pushing him out of the way, telling him to get back as they meet Christophe at the edge of the rink, ordering him to help them take the broken skater away. In a lapse of judgment, Victor yells out, waving his hands around to try and get to Christophe.

“Chris!”

     The blond’s head snaps up, and his eyes meet Victor’s, wide and shocked. He opens his mouth, as if he’s going to call back, but a short woman in an outfit resembling a doctor’s seizes Chris by the shoulder and tugs on him in a too-tight grip, her glare stern. Chris nods and turns away from Victor, following the group of paramedics, balancing delicately on his skates. Victor’s head spins; when had Chris even put the guards on? On shaky knees, Victor stumbles after the small crowd, calling out in Russian for Yuuri, his mind foggy and his eyes watering. He can vaguely feel the presence of Phichit next to him, jogging to catch up with them. As they near the exit, Victor gets a look at Yuuri, his body bent awkwardly and his head lolling to the side, a bloody scrape adorning his pale forehead. The sight of his fiancé in such a broken state brings Victor back to tears, choking and trembling as he trails behind the group. Victor cares for Yuuri deeply, anyone with eyes could tell, but this feels like so much more. Victor had never considered the possibility of Yuuri becoming so horrifyingly injured, and now that the scenario is happening, Victor is experiencing emotions he’d forgotten existed. His chest constricts again, his back spasming with his silent sobbing. A hand rests on his lower arm, pulling him back gently, and the warmth of an arm around his shoulders grounds him momentarily. Glancing his bright blue eyes up, he makes contact with Phichit, who’s standing directly at his side.

“H-he’s gonna be okay..”

  
     Phichit’s voice wavers, but he sounds strangely optimistic, and he gives Victor's shoulder opposite to him a gentle squeeze. Despite not knowing Phichit that well, Victor appreciates the statement. It slows the throbbing of his head and gives him a small anchor of hope in the overwhelming horror and despair. Out of breath and wobbly, Victor lurches forward, following the group through the exit and out into the darkened lot outside of the rink. Bright city lights blur Victor’s vision, but he can still make out the sounds of an ambulance the calls of people he doesn’t know as they take _his_ Yuuri away, placing him on a gurney and thanking Christophe, who stands, as steadily as ever, on his skates on the asphalt. Everything around Victor is a soft blur; the lights, the ambulance, the people, and even the building behind him.

     Chris is standing next to him now, a hand on his shoulder (Everyone has been touching his shoulders all night as if comfort will somehow make Yuuri safe again) There’s a small crowd at the door, and someone calls out to the trio in the parking lot, “Chris! It’s time!” It sounds like the blond’s coach. Chris moves forward gracefully, long legs grounded despite the shaken look in his eyes. Victor brings his hands up against his chest, struggling for breath against the heavy night air (or maybe it’s just hard to breathe after crying so suddenly) and Chris turns back towards Victor and Phichit, “I’m so sorry, Victor.” He glances at his coach and the crowd waiting for them, “He was alive, at least.” Victor nods, shuddering and thanking Chris under his wavering breath.

_He was alive._

     The words send a small surge of hope through the coach’s body, and, with a glance at the young, Taiwanese skater next to him, he steps forwards through the crowd, following Chris back to the rink. He doesn’t intend to stay in this wretched place now, he’s going to see his Yuuri, he has to. Everyone floods in front of him, coaches, skaters, reporters, all people he doesn’t know, Anyone who knew Victor would know that now isn’t the time for this nonsense. Their words are dull, slurred sounds in his ears. All Victor can think about is getting to Yakov, and telling him that he’s leaving, and to wish Yuri luck. He’s going to the hospital, or wherever those damned doctors took Yuuri to, he’s going to make sure he’s okay.

_He has to be okay, he has to be able to get up and go back to the ice._

  
     Victor finds himself shoving a messy haired reporter's hand away from his shoulder, his eyebrows furrowing and his eyes narrowing accusingly. With the small bundle of hope in his mind, surging through all of the terror Victor feels, he’s able to steady himself enough to call for Yakov. Out of the crowd, Victor’s eyes land on his former coach, “I’m leaving!” He yells, hands fumbling for his cell, ready to contact a taxi. Yakov, coming towards Victor from the lobby, nods, and steadies Victor’s hands with one of his own. A silent moment of understanding in all the chaos is shared between the two, and Victor sighs shakily. He has to remind himself of what Chris said, the only thing that’s keeping him sane right now.

_He was alive._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on my writing style as I write this. The format is gonna vary a little between chapters as I learn how I want my style to be. (P.S. I'm not a medical genius, I don't know a lot about these things, forgive me.)

Victor bites his fingernails aimlessly, shivering despite being tucked inside his beige coat as he slumps into the uncomfortable hospital waiting room chair. Shouldn’t they have news by now? The tear tracks on Victor’s face are dry, but the sickening feeling in his stomach remains. 

 

The drive to the hospital was agony, half an hour of worrying himself sick and flopping back and forth from anger to distress in an attempt to somehow dissipate traffic and make his driver go faster. Phichit had remained at the rink, stating that he’d come to see Yuuri as soon as he could. 

 

It had been over an hour of sitting and waiting, the receptionist had gotten tired of Victor’s consistent, expectant glances in her direction and had left the counter. Sighing half-heartedly, Victor lets his eyelids slide shut, weighed down with the consequences of crying his eyes out and trying to run on just a few hours of sleep from the night before. 

 

Relaxing isn’t what Victor would call his actions right now, it's more like utter exhaustion. His muscles are lax and he can’t bring himself to even tear his eyes open. He comes to the striking realization that he’s not handling this as well as he’d liked to. He is Victor Nikiforov for God’s sake- He’s expected to stay calm and collected -but how could he?

 

Katsuki Yuuri, not only Victor’s protege but his fianc é , was lying on an operating table somewhere within this very building. He was supposed to be on the podium right now, holding up a gold medal with a dashing, sparkling smile. He should be rushing to Victor right now, jumping into his arms and breaking into tears of joy as they head to face the crowds of expectant interviewers.  

 

Though Victor’s eyes feel like lead weights, he’s still able to shake himself to full consciousness when a familiar voice calls to him. 

 

“Victor!”

 

The startled coach jumps to his feet, the world buzzing around him as his head throbs and his eyes blur from the rush of standing too fast. 

 

Phichit Chulanont rushes through the automatic doors of the hospital lobby and towards Victor with long, deliberate strides. Celestino Cialdini is at the younger skater’s side, his face worn with worry and the same tiredness that Victor feels. Victor fights down a bit of surprise at seeing Yuuri’s old coach; it’s only natural for someone who’d spent five years training the injured skater to come and see him. 

 

“Any news, Victor? What’s going on?” Phichit’s face is flushed from running all the way to the lobby, and his eyes are red-rimmed to match Victor’s. He looks just as tired as Victor feels, and he feels his heart pang with sympathy for Yuuri’s old companion. 

 

Running an un-gloved hand over his face, he sighs, “No news.” 

Phichit frowns, glancing at his coach and rocking back on his heels. He seems to want to say something more, wringing his hands together and looking down at his feet. Celestino speaks up before Phichit can gather his thoughts, clearing his throat quietly and making a point of holding eye contact with Victor.

 

“Injuries like this aren’t something to be dealt with lightly. All we can do is hope for the best.”

 

The words aren’t exactly inspiring or lifting, but the way Yuuri’s old coach delivers the truth makes it a little easier to swallow. Victor simply nods in response, crossing his arms to try and stop the involuntary shudders that creep up and down his spine. How much longer could it possibly take for someone to know what was going on? How long had it been?

 

Celestino nods curtly, his expression shifting into one of concern, and Victor frowns for a moment, confused, before he realizes that the long-haired man is no longer looking  _ at  _ him, but  _ behind _ him. Twisting around and side-stepping slightly, so he isn’t blocking the other’s view of the approaching subject, Victor can feel his heart twist as he makes eye contact with a short man in a set of scrubs. 

 

“Uhm,” He pushes his thin glasses up his nose with his forefinger and Victor bites his lip when he recalls a memory of Yuuri doing the exact same thing, “You’re here for a Katsuki Yuuri? Correct?”

 

Victor nods his head at the same time Phichit shouts an over-emotional, “Yes!” 

 

Victor can feel Celestino shift beside him, and he shoots the other coach a half glance before turning to more clearly address the nurse. 

 

“Is he okay? What’s going on?”  Victor startles himself with his own voice. He doesn’t remember the last time he sounded so- so  _ tired  _ and so  _ vulnerable _ . He finds himself struggling to keep his composure in front of Yuuri’s friend and former coach. 

 

The nurse grimaces- the opposite of a good sign- and taps his pen against his clipboard a few times before glancing back up at the group. 

 

“He’s been in surgery for a while. He was examined in the ER and it seems like there was severe trauma to the middle back.”

 

Victor can’t contain the slight gasp that leaves his lips, a hand coming up and pressing hard over his mouth to conceal the sound. The middle  _ back _ ? Victor doesn’t have to listen to the onslaught of medical terms pouring from the nurse’s mouth to understand what that means. An injury to the spine or vertebrae could cause brain damage, comas, and- Victor's breath catches in his throat and his shoulders shake- _ paralysis.  _

 

The idea of Yuuri never being able to move again, being an unresponsive shell of who he was before all of  _ this,  _ shakes Victor to his core. He had  _ never  _ prepared for this. Nothing would have prepared Victor for the overwhelming wave of raw emotion and fear for Yuuri’s future that he’s currently experiencing. Maybe he should have foreseen an incident. Maybe he should have told Yuuri not to change his jumps. Maybe he should have-

 

“Victor?” 

 

Phichit is leaning forwards, waving a hand in front of Victor’s face and frowning deeply. Concern is etched into the features of both Celestino and his student, the two men studying Victor intensely.

 

Victor sputters a little bit, coughing and coming out of his own thoughts as he straightens his posture a little. Though his chest is weighed down with the absolute fear of losing Yuuri or of Yuuri becoming a husk of his former skating career, the coach allows hope to stay nestled in his heart. Victor steels himself with a deep breath, dropping his head slightly, and tries to ignore the nurse’s uncertain mumbling.  

 

“He should be in his room. He’ll be out for a while, though.”

 

Victor hadn’t even heard Phichit ask if they could go see him, but he was sure he would’ve asked the question himself eventually. Lifting his head from its half-mast position, Victor glances at Celestino and then to the nurse, confirming his permission to go and see Yuuri.

 

_ ‘God Yuuri, I’m coming…’  _

 

Victor springs forwards suddenly, passing the nurse in a whirlwind of mussed, platinum hair and wrinkled layers of clothing. He can hear Phichit call after him, soft vibrations being sent through the sterile tiles below his feet as the other sprints to catch up to him. Celestino stands next to the nurse, dipping his head in thanks when he receives Yuuri’s room number. (Why had Victor been too foggy-minded to ask for it?) 

 

The walk to Yuuri’s room feels like a journey to Victor, and his legs sear with pain from sitting for so long earlier as he practically jogs down the long, white hallways before coming to an abrupt halt. His body lurches forwards slightly when Phichit knocks into his shoulder from his sudden stop, but the feeling in his chest- the feeling that Yuuri is close- causes him to disregard any feeling that may have come from the collision. 

 

“Ah, here we go.”

 

Celestino steps in between Victor and Phichit and gestures to the door to the left of the group, and he takes a deep breath before gesturing to Victor. It’s as if Yuuri’s former coach is telling Victor to do the honors, and the thought chills the silver haired man to the bone. Something about the unmarked, blindingly white door unsettles Victor deeply, but the thought of seeing Yuuri, breathing and stable, presses him to turn the handle gently. 

 

The door creaks quietly as it swings open, casting a soft ray of light against the dim room. The only source of light in Yuuri’s room is a lamp on a small bedside table and the machines that sit on either side of the hospital bed like cold statues. Their lights slowly blink red and green, soft beeps emitting with each pulse. 

 

Victor finally brings himself to settle his eyes on Yuuri himself. 

 

The sight is- no matter how hard Victor tried to ready himself for it- devastating. Yuuri’s arms lay at his sides, hooked up to the machines in several different places, and his head is laid back on a pair of clean, white pillows. His hair has fallen out of its slicked style, stuck to the pillows and his forehead with what Victor assumes to be sweat, or maybe water from the doctors cleaning him up. A bandage adorns his forehead, a strong tan color against his sickly pale skin.

 

_ ‘He looks like some kind of broken angel…”  _

 

A choked, humorless laugh rises from Victor’s throat at such a cliche thought, and the man moves into the room to the side of Yuuri’s bed, drinking in and trying to process the sight of his student, his best friend, and his fianc é, lying in a hospital bed on the night of the Grand Prix Finals.

 

Part of Victor is disappointed and depressed that Yuuri has lost his shot at the gold, but the other part, the part that has grown to truly love Yuuri for all that he is, from his wild, Eros-inspiring behavior at the banquet to his anxious breakdowns between programs, knows that this is so much more than a disqualification. This is more than just the end of Yuuri’s skating career or the end of their student-coach relationship. This is something that threatens Yuuri’s entire _ life.  _

 

Victor feels selfish for even thinking about the Finals in a time like this, He was sure Phichit wasn’t thinking about medals or coaching right now. Standing on the other side of the bed, bent down over Yuuri’s unconscious form with tears in his eyes; Phichit was probably thinking about Yuuri himself. Victor mentally scolds himself before dropping into a slight crouch near the head of the bed, ghosting his eyes over Yuuri’s pale, slack face before bringing a hand to touch his clammy cheek.The feeling of the slightly damp, cold skin against his own dry skin brings him a little bit of relief. At least he’s here now, by Yuuri’s side. 

 

Victor resists slightly when Celestino grips his forearm and pulls him back to sit in a chair near the door, a clone to the rigid one he’d been sitting in just a little while ago. 

 

“The doctor will be with us shortly, Victor. We must accept whatever he has to tell us. Yuuri is depending on you.”

 

Victor’s throat tightens. Yuuri is so _ strong _ , Victor thinks, He doesn’t _ depend _ on anyone. Still, the lurking thought in the back of Victor’s mind that Yuuri will never be able to walk (let alone pursue his love of ice-skating) again holds the older man’s heart in steel claws of fear. How had it come to this? 

 

Shaking off the impending shudders from the terrible thoughts of Yuuri’s future and the uncertainty of learning how to live with what has happened, Victor looks up and meets Celestino’s gaze with a confidence he hadn’t realized he still had.

 

“I'll do whatever I have to.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little bit of a filler to set up the next chapter. :)


	3. Chapter 3

Victor wakes with a sudden start, blinking away the sleep from his eyes and surveying his surroundings carefully.

 

_ ‘So it hadn’t been a dream… _ ’

 

He sighs dejectedly, leaning forward in his chair and placing his elbows on his knees. The unfamiliar smell of the sterile hospital room seems much more potent now that Victor has rested for a bit, and it’s the glare of the overhead light on the pristine sheets of Yuuri’s bed that makes Victor squint and look away. That’s what he tells himself, anyways, trying to fend away the pressing guilt at the sight of Yuuri’s unconscious, immobile form. 

 

Celestino had coerced Victor into sitting down for a while after they had made it to Yuuri’s room, and Victor had been unable to fight away the threat of giving in to his exhaustion. Sleeping in the wooden chair hadn’t been comfortable, but with the pounding in his head and the lack of sleep, Victor hadn’t had a problem drifting off after getting to sit down.  He wasn’t sure what time it was now, or if the two who had accompanied him to the hospital were still here, even. 

 

Swallowing hard, Victor rises to his feet and runs a hand through his unruly hair. On sore and tired legs, he makes his way to the side of Yuuri’s bed, biting the inside of his cheeks when he comes close enough to have a clear view of the other’s face. Yuuri looks better now, Victor supposes; his face isn’t so pale and the area around his bandage is no longer an angry red color. 

 

Maybe Victor was kidding himself, but that hope that had been dashed away by the doctor’s words the night prior re-bloomed in his chest. While it should have been a good feeling, it no longer was. Victor had felt hope several times throughout the night of the incident, but it hadn’t been enough. All that had come from this- from Victor’s lack of diligence- was a tragedy. 

 

Reaching a hand out as he had last night, Victor runs his fingers through Yuuri’s hair, displacing the messy, black locks. Yuuri’s forehead is warm, and he can’t help allowing his chilly hand to linger in place for a moment. 

 

“Should I- Uh… Give you a moment?” 

 

Victor snaps to attention, craning his neck to look in the doorway. Phichit stands in his vision, smiling weakly and grasping a styrofoam cup in each hand. The coach shakes his head, trying his hardest to lift the corners of his lips to return Phichit’s kind gesture. Apparently, he had decided to stay overnight as well, his black hair uncombed and his jacket skewed awkwardly. 

 

“Here.” Phichit holds one of the cups out, coming to stand beside Victor at Yuuri’s bedside. Victor takes the cup thankfully, glancing into the pitch liquid sloshing around inside. For a brief moment, he’s inclined to ask what in the world the liquid is, but the strong odor coming from the vapor rising off of its surface tells Victor that it’s coffee. Hospital coffee.

 

Despite trying to remain polite in front of Yuuri’s old skating friend, Victor grimaces, lifting the cup to his nose before taking a half-hearted sip. Just as he’d expected, the coffee tastes like it’d been left sitting for quite a while, although it’s warm enough to sting his lips slightly. Phichit notices the gesture and smiles, laughing gently.

 

“That’s hospital coffee for you.”

 

Victor nods in agreement, looking back down at Yuuri and reaching his free hand back out to brush a thumb over his fiance’s eyebrow, stroking the short hairs the wrong way before flattening them back out with the pad of his finger. Phichit is silent, using both of his hands to hold the small, white cup up to his face.

 

Letting his thoughts wander, Victor tries to recall the conversation he, Celestino, and Phichit had with the doctor before he had fallen asleep. It had been, as they all had been dreading, nothing but bad news, but Victor can’t help but replay the memory, as hazy as it may be. 

 

_ “I’m sorry, but it doesn’t seem like Mr. Katsuki will have complete use of his lower body from now on.” _

 

_ paralysis...medication...wheelchairs... _

 

Victor closes his eyes and shudders, removing his hand from Yuuri’s head and trying to drink the rest of the ‘coffee’ down before setting the styrofoam cup on the bedside table. Yuuri’s glasses sit next to the lamp, and Victor stares at them for a second, silently thanking Celestino for not being as emotionally forgetful as he had been and remembering to bring them. Although, it didn’t seem as though Yuuri would be waking anytime soon.

 

Someone clears their throat on the other side of the room, near the door, and Victor looks up and takes notice of the small group standing in the doorway. Celestino nods to Phichit, stepping out of the way of his two companions.

 

Victor’s chest tightens when he recognizes the two women who had entered the room before the other man and can’t help but to look away. Yuuri’s sister and his old ballet teacher stand at the foot of the bed, looking at Victor as though they expect him to have something to say. What  _ could _ he say? That he was sorry? That he never meant for this to happen? Both were pitiful excuses; Victor opts to say nothing. 

 

Phichit shares an exchange with the two that Victor decides to tune out, looking away from the others and staring at Yuuri’s closed eyes instead. Maybe if he stared hard enough his fiance would wake up and laugh and say, “Just kidding!” Then they’d walk out of here,  _ together.  _ No wheelchairs in sight. 

 

Focusing on Yuuri’s eyelids as if his life depended on it, Victor almost misses the doctor coming into the room and addressing the five of them with a clipboard and a pen, tapping one of his shoes against the tile floor annoyingly. Blinking a few times, Victor moves to stand beside Phichit instead of behind him, so he can hear the doctor clearly.

 

“I feel it’s necessary to get Yuuri home quickly. He’ll be much more comfortable in his own home when he wakes, and he’s stable enough to be transported.”

 

Victor frowns, flicking his gaze over to Yuuri. While it was true that Yuuri would be more apt to recover (as much as he could, anyways.) back in Hasetsu, Victor didn’t know if he could bear to be separated from Yuuri for long, not now, after all that’s happened. He’d been welcome in the Katsuki household when he was training Yuuri, but would he be now? After what he’d allowed to happen to Yuuri? 

 

More small talk ensues, Mari and Minako question the doctor with worried looks on their faces and eyes glazed with tears.They hadn’t been here last night when the doctor had given Phichit, Celestino and Victor the run down of Yuuri’s state. Victor doesn’t want to hear those words again and blocks out the heavy sound of the doctor's voice as he tells Yuuri’s family that he’ll never walk again. 

 

The girls hold their composure better than Victor had, even though they’re clearly shaken.

 

_ ‘They aren’t in love with him, though.’ _

 

A lump forms in the back of Victor’s throat when that thought comes to his mind, crossing his arms over his chest and biting his lip. The emotion of love was strangely foreign to Victor, despite having a flirtatious personality and being fawned over by men and women alike during most of his career. He’d never been  _ in _ love before Yuuri.

 

“Alright then,” The voice belongs to Yuuri’s sister, “Let’s bring him home.”

 

* * *

 

 

Victor is kneeled in the middle of Yuuri’s bedroom, pulling a box out from under the other man’s bed. Deciding to take a short break, Victor stands up and brushes small pieces of dust and hair off of his pants, He surveys Yuuri’s room with critical eyes, taking in every small detail. 

Yuuri had come home yesterday, after being discharged from the hospital. Victor and Yuuri’s family had been cleaning his room and rearranging it to make it easier for him to get around.  Barcelona and the Grand Prix seemed like they were both years ago. The days moved at an achingly slow pace for Victor, and Yuuri had been in and out of consciousness since he had been transported, never being awake long enough to recognize Victor. 

A voice coming down the hallway pulls Victor from his thoughts, and Mari comes in the door with a glass of water in her hand.

“Hey, Victor. How’s it going?”

She stops next to the box Victor pulled from underneath Yuuri’s bed and frowns, cocking her head to the side in confusion. Before Victor can answer her, Mari adjusts her shirt a bit, drops to her knees, and sets her glass on the floor a safe distance away from herself and Victor. 

“It’s going oka-”

Victor stops short, eyes widening slightly when Mari pulls the flaps on the box open. It takes Victor a moment to get what he’s looking at: A whole bunch of rolled papers all set carefully in rows. Whatever these scrolls were, Yuuri had obviously cared about their condition. Mari reaches in front of Victor to grip one of the rolls, pulling it from the box and unraveling it gently. 

_ “Oh.”  _

The paper unrolled revealed a poster. A poster of Victor. 

A small smile graces Victor’s face, and he chuckles gently before grabbing another scroll, unrolling it as well. It’s another poster of him, and Victor doesn’t have to look to know that all of the posters are of him. Yuuri had looked up to him as some sort of figurehead for his skating career, and it had only recently come to Victor’s attention that now Yuuri thought of him as a mutual; a coach, a best friend, and someone he can rely on. 

Mari smiles at Victor, placing a hand on his shoulder as he starts to shake gently. Although he’d known that Yuuri thought of him that way, to see his admiration for Victor spelled out so plainly in a hidden box of posters made the older man a little emotional. Especially with everything that’s happened. 

Small tears form in Victor’s eyes, and he brings a hand to his mouth to muffle the soft choking sound that comes out when he tries to thank Mari for being so considerate.

The Katsuki family had been nothing but welcoming when he and Mari had walked through the door. Yuuri’s mother had taken his hands and asked him if he was alright, obviously noticing his state of exhaustion and not having showered until he had settled into the inn. Victor had expected sour looks and awkward conversation. He’d expected to be sent away from Yuuri. 

His expectations couldn’t have been further from reality. He’d been welcomed in with open arms, comforted and cared for when he believed he’d deserved anything but.

“I think this place is good enough to move him into if you’re ready.”

Mari stands slowly, her hand leaving Victor’s shoulder as she rolls the poster back up and places it back in the box. Victor does the same, closing the box and sliding it back under the bed fondly. 

Moving Yuuri into his room was a daunting task. He was unconscious as of right now, his head jarring with each movement of his wheelchair, and Victor walked behind Mari and Yuuri’s father to avoid getting emotional in front of them. Trying to angle the chair just right, Yuuri’s father managed to slide in around the rearranged furniture.

“I’m glad you left his bed here. He’ll appreciate it being the same.” 

Mari smiles, nodding to Victor as he walks into the room beside the pair. He had moved most of the furniture on his own. He wasn’t accustomed to domestic tasks like such, but it hadn’t been too tough. Nothing Yuuri owned weighed that much.

Victor offered as much help as he could, handing a clean night shirt to Mari so she could change Yuuri into something more comfrtable. Yuuri, settled into his bed, looked like he could just be taking a nap, and Victor could shake him awake and tell him that it was time to go train. 

That would be nice.

The thought makes Victor grimace as he tries to not to show too much of the torrent of emotions he’s currently experiencing.

“We’ll leave you alone for a bit.” Mari takes her father by the arm, waving gently to Victor and leaving the room in a soft flurry of footsteps. 

Victor wrings his hands together once. Twice. Three times, and then stops, stepping forwards to sit carefully on the edge of Yuuri’s bed. Running a hand through Yuuri's hair, Victor leans in to press a kiss to Yuuri’s forehead, taking ahold of one of the younger man’s hands with both of his own. His ring shines a brilliant gold against his pale complexion.

“I hope you wake soon, my love.” 

Victor’s voice shakes as he murmurs the words against Yuuri’s skin, and when the skin underneath Victor’s lips shifts gently, he pulls back and looks down at Yuuri, gasping softly.

A pair of enrapturing brown eyes gaze back up at Victor’s own, although they’re hazed with sleep and confusion.

  
_ “Victor?” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Transferring people from hospitals from one country to another is hell, so I tried to stay as vague as possible. I speak from experience. (Just to make it clear, the second half of the chapter transitions to Hasetsu )


	4. Chapter 4

_ “Victor?” _

 

Yuuri’s eyes are open, and his face is skewed with confusion and shock. Obviously, he hadn’t expected to wake up and find himself back in his own room with Victor hovering over him. Victor hadn’t expected Yuuri to wake up at all today; the doctor had told him it’d be a while before the injured skater would be able to remain conscious for long periods of time.

 

“Victor? W-What’s wrong?”

 

Yuuri is stuttering in a panicky tone, his eyes shining with alarm instead of with sleep. He places his hands on either side of his own hips, palms down, and tries to push himself into a sitting position. Met with the resistance of having to drag his lower half upwards, Yuuri grunts softly, wriggling around to try and prop himself up.

 

Victor reaches forwards, grabbing ahold of Yuuri’s shoulder and holding him still. The other man stops his sporadic movements and focuses on Victor. His breath comes in soft, shallow pants as he stares Victor in the face, lips pursing tightly. He has no clue, Victor realizes, and that just makes this even harder for the both of them. 

 

“What happened, Victor? I- I remember a hospital and…” Yuuri frowns even more than he already had been, shifting his weight awkwardly and leaning back against the headboard to take the weight off of his palms. Victor sighs, leaning back so he sits in an upright position on the side of Yuuri’s bed. 

 

“There was an accident. You were brought home just recently. You haven’t woken up for long in the past few days.” Victor taps his foot against the ground, trying to fill the silence with the dull, repetitive thuds. How could he say this? If there was a way to gently deliver news like this, Victor would love to hear it.

 

“W-wait.”

 

Yuuri’s voice breaks and the sound startles Victor. Sure, Yuuri had cried in front of him, he’d seen the other man’s weaker side before, but this was different.  _ ‘Because I’ll have to tell him what happened eventually. _ ’ Victor thinks, looking at Yuuri with a grim expression ghosting his features. 

 

“What’s wrong with me?” Yuuri’s eyes are wide again, a hand comes up to be placed in front of his mouth. “Why can’t I move, Victor? Why do my legs feel like that?” In a sudden burst of activity, Yuuri’s hands shoot down to his thighs and grip gently, the fabric of his pants balling up in his fists. Victor readjusts the hands on his fiance’s shoulders, preventing him from slumping forward at the jerking movement. 

 

“Y-Yuuri…” Victor looks away, the pattern in the wood of the floor suddenly becoming much more interesting than it had been before. “In the accident,” the older man takes a deep breath to prepare, “You hurt your back.” 

 

Silence fills the room, Victor refusing to look back at Yuuri. He can’t risk the other seeing him like this, with trembling lips and eyes filled with unease. He was supposed to be a symbol of strength for his protege, for his partner. Instead. he was being cowardly, too afraid to deliver the news that Yuuri had probably already figured out for himself. 

 

“I’m… I can’t walk now, can I? I-I’ll never skate again, will I? I can feel it, in my legs, something's wrong.”

 

The absolute loss of hope in Yuuri’s voice makes Victor’s heart feel like it’s dropping into his stomach. He sounds defeated. He doesn’t have to look to know that Yuuri is beginning to cry, the soft trembling that Victor can feel through the other’s shoulders cue him in enough. 

 

“I’m  _ so sorry _ , Yuuri.” Removing his hands slowly, Victor stands and backs up, trying to ready himself for Yuuri’s reaction. Would Yuuri be as forgiving as his family had been or would he think the same as Victor and blame the coach for the accident?

 

“T-this is all my fault,” Victor clasps his hands in front of himself, still refusing eye contact with Yuuri. “I don’t want you to think about it any other way. I caused this.” His voice cracks somewhere in the middle but he doesn’t dare reach up to wipe a stray tear the falls down his cheek, burning his face. It truly _is_ his fault, isn't it? If he had just been a little more patient with Yuuri, if he had just told Yuuri not to push it, none of this would’ve happened.

 

Yuuri stares at his hands absentmindedly, a blank look on his face despite the tears in the corners of his eyes. So he did agree with Victor after all? So far, no one had blamed him but himself. Still, the guilt that coiled low in his stomach prevented him from seeing past his own thoughts. The encouragement and care from Yuuri’s family and the other skaters meant nothing in the face of the overwhelming sense of responsibility that Victor felt. 

 

“No.” Yuuri looks up suddenly, catching Victor off guard and forcing him to make eye contact. “No, this isn’t anyone’s fault. Especially not your’s, Victor.” There’s a fierceness in his tone that Victor had most certainly not expected after the defeat Yuuri had shown earlier.

 

Yuuri chokes back his tears, bringing his wrist up to wipe them away. He had never dealt with stress easily, either eating away his problems or succumbing to his anxiety and panicking until Victor could get ahold of him and prepare him to face his fears. This show of strength from Yuuri was the last thing that Victor thought would happen when he realized the severity of his injuries.

 

Yuuri tries to say more, coughing a little as he brings his other hand up to press against his face. Crying harder, his shoulders tremble and he slumps unnaturally from his obviously uncomfortable position on the bed. With his legs straight out in front of him like that, he can't feel very pleasant. Victor can barely stand the sight of Yuuri in so much distress, and no matter how much he wants to remain resilient, he can’t help but to come back to the edge of the bed, place a knee against the frame, and wrap an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. 

 

Yuuri’s hands shoot from his face to cling around Victor’s midsection, finding comfort in the other man’s embrace. Victor shifts himself slightly and, albeit carefully, brings his leg up onto the bed to place a knee on either side of Yuuri’s lean hips. He’s sure to balance his weight cautiously, letting no part of him press down on the smaller man’s fragile frame. To hurt Yuuri now would obliterate every part of Victor that was beginning to understand that the accident wasn’t his fault.

 

Victor can feel Yuuri’s fingernails pressing through the thin fabric of his shirt and digging into his lower back as if he’s trying to keep Victor from pulling away. He rests his head against Yuuri’s, closing his eyes and focusing on the way his fiance breathes; shakily and deep, trying to manage through the sobs. He’d seen Yuuri cry like this before, it wasn’t new to him. But the fact that he was crying because he was trying to process the fact that he’d never skate, or walk, again made Victor desperate to comfort him. 

 

“I don’t,” Yuuri hiccups, “know what to do.” 

 

Victor pulls away from his face a bit, bringing the hand that's not bracing him against the mattress to cup Yuuri’s cheek. He doesn’t know either. Where  _ do _ they go from here? They went from a dynamic coach and student duo to a broken couple, crying in one another’s arms over a tragedy. “I’m not going to go anywhere.” Victor brushes his thumb over Yuuri’s cheekbone, trying to convey the devotion he feels to the other through the simple touch. 

 

“I hope not.” Yuuri shakes gently, loosening his grip on Victor’s shirt and leaning into the touches on his face.

 

Victor removes his hand gently, sitting back on his calves before carefully bringing both his legs to the empty side of the bed against the wall. He’s sure that Yuuri is tired, especially after waking up to such an overflow of emotions and bad news. Victor is tired as well, from moving furniture and from the weight of the conversation they'd shared. 

  
Shifting to lay on his side, Victor faces Yuuri and reaches out to run his fingers through the other’s soft, black locks. Yuuri relaxes at the touch and allows himself to sink down a little bit, no longer working on propping himself up and turning his face to Victor’s. He’s sure they’re quite a sight; tearstained and laying on top of the covers in  Yuuri’s bed, staring at one another like they’ll lose each other if they look apart. Regardless, Victor knows there's nowhere else he'd rather be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for shortness


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about sports, I'm so sorry.

_One week later._

Victor laughs; a gentle sound that froths up from the warm feeling in his chest. Over the last week, Yuuri’s stitches have healed and his demeanor is a little less depressed and a bit more hopeful. The younger man, from his wheelchair, had made a little joke that had caused Victor to see a bit more of the Yuuri he knew before. He hadn’t expected things to go smoothly. He’d expected anger and disdain from Yuuri and his family, he’d expected to get sent back to Russia to be forced to relive the night of the Grand Prix Finals over and over. 

He was glad, oh so glad, that everyone he knew was so-  _ kind. _ Yuuri, from where he’s positioned his chair in the main room of the inn, is turned to face Victor, smiling lopsidedly at the other man's reaction to his joke. Grinning back at him as best he can, Victor moves across the room from where he was having a drink to stand next to his wheelchair, resting a hand on his low shoulder. Yuuri leans into the touch slightly, his face dropping into an expression of contentedness rather than gentle excitement. 

The last week had been stressful, to put it simply. It was comprised of trying to find the easiest way to get Yuuri in and out of his wheelchair and dealing with the gloom that had seemed to settle over the entire Katsuki household. Lately, despite the situation, Yuuri had seemed to be getting better, or at least coming to terms with things. He taps his fingers against the arms of his chair in a slow rhythm, lost in thought. Victor feels the same, not quite sure what he should be feeling at the moment. Should he be happy that Yuuri wasn’t quite as distressed anymore? Or should he still be upset that this was happening at all?

Victor consoles himself with the thought that Yuuri wouldn’t want him to beat himself up over it. From his first day home until now, Yuuri had been adamant about keeping the other man from blaming himself, even when they were both in tears. Victor had to admit, he wasn’t much of a tears person. The past few days were the most he’d cried in almost a year, and while it felt good to let it out with such a terrible thing happening to his fiance, he felt a bit selfish. Crying in front of Yuuri only ever made the other man uncomfortable or made him cry himself. Besides, Yuuri was the one this actually  _ happened  _ to, yet he had stayed stronger than anyone had expected. Victor felt a soft surge of pride; he liked to think he helped Yuuri gain the glow of hopefulness he’d shown in the face of his injury. 

Still… Even though Yuuri had been strong the past few days, learning how to get around quite quickly and putting on a kind smile for the customers of the inn and his own family, Victor can’t help but think that Yuuri’s hiding his anxiety and the desolation he feels. It’s obvious that Yuuri has had a lot on his mind this week, not being able to do things for himself must be frustrating, but it would be for anyone. Victor knew that there was more to it than just his home life. He missed skating. 

_ ‘Who wouldn’t?”  _ The older man knows that if he was in Yuuri’s place, he’d put on a show to make it seem like he was coping as well. Maybe he was wrong, maybe Yuuri was getting along fine, but Victor knew that whether he was okay or not, he still missed his career. He still missed the ice. He’d have to confront Yuuri later, in private. The main room wasn’t full by any means, but Mari sits at a table in the corner, and a few stray guests are coming in and out at their leisures. To question Yuuri about something so private out here would be rude. 

“Hey, Yuuri!”

Minako smiles from the doorway, peeking her head around the doorframe playfully before striding into the room. Yuuri perks up, his shoulder flexing underneath Victor’s hand.

“Hey Minako,” He offers a friendly grin, glancing up at the man at his side before returning his gaze to his past ballet instructor. 

Minako settles down at one of the tables, grabbing a remote and clicking at the television monitor pointedly. It only takes Victor a moment to realize that it was a mistake. The TV flickers to life, a ‘sports news’ channel coming into the picture. 

_ “-And it appears Victor Nikiforov has gone off the grid after the injury of his protege, Katsuki Yuuri-” _

The image on the screen disappears just as fast as it had appeared, the click of the tv being turned off by the remote draws attention from the few guests standing in the back of the room. Victor is thoroughly embarrassed at the resounding announcement, not daring to take his gaze off of the now blank TV screen. 

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll uh-” Minako coughs awkwardly, placing the remote back on the table, “I’ll check it next time.” She offers a smile to Yuuri, who holds the arms of his wheelchair in a white-knuckled grip. He’s obviously been made uncomfortable by the announcement, not appreciating the attention it brings himself and Victor from the stray customers who are now staring at them.

Victor shifts his weight, glancing down at Yuuri instead of the TV. His body language says he’s not happy, tense shoulders and a grimace on his lips, but he still manages to reach out to Minako. “It’s alright, Minako. Don’t worry.” He’s ever the optimist, even after the painful reminder of his situation, as if he wasn’t already aware enough. Neither of the skaters had considered what the news might be saying about the accident. The thought made Victor’s stomach churn.

“Can we- Uhm,” Yuuri reaches a hand up from his lap to grasp the edge of Victor’s shirt sleeve, tugging gently. “Can we go to my room?” The older man pauses a moment before nodding, giving a curt, but friendly wave to Minako before gripping the handles of Yuuri’s wheelchair. Victor knows that Yuuri likes to do it himself, but it’s easier and faster for Victor to do it. Right now he just wants out of sight, and he finds himself briefly wishing he had been a bit more talkative to Minako. Maybe she wouldn’t have turned on the TV then. Victor, despite being outrageously friendly, wasn’t apt to chatter over the last week. He saved his breath for Yuuri, to talk with him when he needed someone. God knows the conversations they’d had over the past seven days had not been easy ones.  

“Thank you, Victor.” Yuuri leans back in his chair a bit, letting the tension of the main room roll off his shoulders in waves. “I hope Minako doesn’t think I’m angry with her. I just-” He takes a deep breath, flexing his fingers in the air on either side of his armrests. Yuuri doesn’t finish his sentence, but Victor understands him well enough to know, _ “I just wanted to get out of there.” _

Victor would be lying if he said he wanted to stay in that room, even if the only people there were Minako, Mari, and three strangers. The air had suddenly become thick with tension and it had easily unsettled poor Yuuri, who had seemed a little brighter than usual beforehand. This incident just gave Victor more reason to dislike watching television. Maybe that was why he was always watching videos on his phone instead.

Arriving in Yuuri’s room, Victor comes around the edge of the wheelchair to hoist his fiance into his arms effortlessly. The last week had given Victor plenty of practice with moving the other in and out of the chair, but there was something a little more intimate about it to the older of the two. He’d hugged Yuuri more times than he could count, even managed to steal kisses from him every now and then, but the weight of the other against his chest was a comforting reminder that, despite his state, at least they were together. 

“You can set me down, Victor,” Yuuri says, a grin slowly gracing his lips into a full blown smile. It was a nice change from the blank stare on his face just a moment ago, and Victor uses cradling the other man in his arms to his advantage. He leans in playfully, giving a soft smile before pressing his lips to the tip of Yuuri’s nose. Laughter bubbles from the two of them before Victor sets the smaller man on the bed, laying him up against the headboard in a sitting position. 

“I’m sorry about the television, Yuuri,” Victor says softly, crossing his legs to sit beside Yuuri up on the bed. The other shakes his head, just offering a small grin as if to say, _“It’s okay.”_

The bittersweet moment only lasts so long, Victor’s mind drifting into potentially dangerous territory. He’d been thinking about talking to Yuuri about his career and the emotions he seems to be bottling, but he’s not sure he wants to ruin the mood. Before Victor can continue to contemplate whether he should bring it up or not, Yuuri breaks the silence with a startling question.

“Would you consider going back to skating?”

Victor’s eyes widen and he snaps his head to look at the other, genuinely shocked. Where had that question come from?

“I think it’s a good idea.” Yuuri looks down at his hands resting in his lap, twisting his ring around his finger gently, as he always did when he was nervous. His black hair falls in his eyes a little, and as tempted as Victor is to brush the strands back with his fingers, he doesn’t. 

“I- I don’t know, Yuuri,” He sighs heavily, brushing his finger against his own golden band, “If I were to skate I’d have to go to Russia.” Despite having formed the words in his mind, the true effect of them only begins to set in after he'd already said them. He’d have to  _ leave _ Yuuri. 

“Well that’s okay,” Yuuri looks up and smiles, reaching out to touch Victor’s jawline sweetly. “I’ve got my family to look after me.” No matter how kind he is, the younger man’s melancholy undertones are clear to Victor underneath the smile and the confident words. There’s no way he’s going to go all the way to Russia, and for an entire season no less. 

“There’s no way I can do that,” Victor bites his lip and shifts his jaw closer to Yuuri’s touch, "I can’t be away from you for that long, you should know that.” Memories of the time Victor had to fly back to Japan for Makkachin come rushing in, and that had been for less than forty-eight hours. Yuuri seems to be remembering that time as well, his smile dropping and his expression twisting in concentration as if he’s trying to find a solution to Victor’s stubbornness.

“Well you can always train here in Hasetsu, someone would be willing to coach you, I’m sure!” Yuuri perks back up, brushing his thumb against Victor’s cheek. His smile is filled with thoughtfulness, he’s putting his fiance first, as usual. Yuuri tends to disregard his own happiness in the light that it would make Victor happy. “Then you could stay with me while you train.”

“Would that make you happy?” Victor frowns, inclining his head slightly and raising an eyebrow. Victor had been considering a return to the ice for long before the accident. He just figured he’d return to his career alongside his fiance, not alone. Yuuri had told him, the night before the Finals, that he thought Victor should go back to his career, and he would retire. He hadn’t wanted that, for Yuuri to retire, but now it seemed he had no choice. 

Yuuri nods, “I’d enjoy seeing you do what you love again.” He sighs and suddenly looks crestfallen, “If I can’t anymore, It would help me to see you out there again.” Victor hadn’t considered that. As much as Yuuri loved skating, he figured it’d be even harder for him to deal with his loss if Victor was able to skate as if he was gloating. Apparently, that was not the case. It made sense that Yuuri would feel closer to the ice if his fiance was still a competitor in the figure skating world, instead of completely removing the sport from his life.

“I don’t know,” Victor shakes his head, trying to organize his thoughts. Yuuri’s offer made sense, and as much as Victor wanted to take it, and find a way to make his return next season possible, he’s still wary of the idea. After such an injury to someone he held so dear, would skating be the same? Victor wasn’t scared of injuring himself, he was sure of that, at least. There were other things that made this much more complex than it seemed.

“Consider it, Vitya.” Yuuri’s eyes take on a softer look, his lips pursed. Victor hadn’t expected the nickname, but it melts his resolve a little, and he turns his head to press a kiss to the other’s hand, which still rests on his jaw. Smiling weakly, Victor nods.

“I’ll think about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be up on Sunday. I'm either gonna work on one-shots or take a break, thanks for reading this far. :)


	6. Chapter 6

Victor arches his back slightly, the muscles in his legs straining as he stretches the sleep from his body. Cracking his eyes open to stare at the ceiling above him, he nearly forgets that Yuuri is lying next to him. The only reminder being the sound of soft snoring in his ear. Turning himself to lie on his side, Victor surveys the other man’s face while he rests, the subtle curves of his lips and nose dusted a light pink. Yuuri has such soft features, and Victor takes note of every little detail, drinking in the sight of his fianc é looking so beautifully peaceful. The older man is glad he woke up first, knowing that Yuuri would have been too kind to wake him, but couldn’t have gotten out of the bed by himself if he had needed to. He would’ve twiddled his thumbs idly, waiting for Victor to open his eyes.

 

Reaching over Yuuri, Victor grabs for his phone on the nightstand, holding it close to his face as he unlocks it. Social media is the same inane chaos it always is, a slur of posts featuring people Victor barely knows standing on the beach or sitting in a bar. The captions are a whirlwind of emoticons and exclamation points, the polar opposite of the boredom stirring inside the Russian’s mind. A yawn slices the thick silence lingering in the bedroom, and Yuuri’s arms unfurl from their sleeping position to be stretched unceremoniously over his head. 

 

“Victor? What are you doing?”  Yuuri’s hand comes down from his stretch and rests on top of the pillow in between their heads, his digits curled slightly. Victor’s own finger clicks the phone off, already incredibly bored of the site he’s browsing. Glancing over the top of his now blank phone, he shoots Yuuri a quizzical stare. He was just on his phone, the younger usually wouldn’t have asked him, he didn’t mind things like waking up with a phone case in front of his face. Then again, Yuuri was  _ usually _ able to get up and do whatever he wanted in the mornings. That wasn’t the case now.

 

“Bored.” Victor is just telling the truth, but it comes out a little snappier than he meant it to, so he adds a “Good morning,” Afterward. Sighing, Yuuri shifts against the headboard so he can sit up, reaching for his glasses at the same time. He seems to have something on his mind, Victor notices, resting his cheek back on the pillow as he lies down again. The twenty-eight-year-old has little to no intentions of rising from bed this early. Yuuri seems to think the opposite.

 

“Why don’t we go to the rink today?” Brown eyes meet blue as Victor coughs in surprise, sitting up much too quickly. 

 

_ What?  _

 

For a moment, he feels he’s made a mistake, maybe he just heard Yuuri wrong. But that theory is shattered when the younger man restates his question, cocking his head in Victor’s direction. 

 

“I know you haven’t been able to do anything but care for me lately, it must be boring you out of your mind.” He laughs awkwardly, running a hand through his messy, black hair and averting his eyes from Victor’s. He surely hit a nerve with that one. It wasn’t that the older man was  _ bored _ of taking care of his fiancé, that certainly wasn’t the case, but Victor would be lying if he said didn't have any pent up feelings from not being able to go out as he pleased. Skating felt like a far off wish right now, but here is Yuuri, offering the one thing that could cure his tense state of mind as if it didn’t mean much. 

 

“Would that-” Victor coughs into the back of his hand, moving it upwards to glide through his own silver tresses, “Would that be okay? With you, I mean.” 

 

Yuuri nods, eyes showing a gentle thoughtfulness, something that had been quite common with him lately. He had the right to be anything  _ but _ kind. He could be spiteful and bitter, and no one would be able to tell him to feel otherwise, no one was going through the same loss as he was. Still, ever since that night, excluding the sessions of deep conversations he had delved into with Victor, Yuuri had been hopeful and downright sweet. Even if he  _ was _ trying to keep his sadness hidden.

 

Victor rolls his shoulders, loosening his back to prepare to lift Yuuri out of bed. “I suppose we’ll go, then.”

* * *

 

Maybe he’d been a bit too eager to get out of the house and back to the ice because Victor realizes he’d forgotten to comb his hair into place when he sees his reflection in the glass of the rink’s entrance door. In an attempt to smooth the wild locks, he swipes his fingers through his side bangs, fighting them into a half-hearted attempt at a ‘style’. Yuuri had demanded he’d use the chair himself, so Victor simply holds the door as the younger man wheels himself into the lobby, a bittersweet look on his pale features. 

To revisit somewhere that held so much pertinence to his childhood must have brought memories sweeping back with a wave of emotion, and Victor doesn’t blame the frown that lingers on his lips as the door closes behind them. With his current state, Yuuri must be thinking a lot, and  _ a lot _ felt like an understatement. 

Someone comes out of the backroom from behind the counter, pushing open the door with their back. The person spins around, setting a large cardboard box on a shelf before turning to greet them with a welcoming smile. 

“Hello! How are-”

The person,  _ woman,  _ Victor notes, stops abruptly, and now that he’s focusing on her, it’s not hard to remember the kindly lady who ran the rink they had trained in for so long. 

“Yuuko!” 

Yuuri perks up, his frown changing into an excited grin. Yuuko calls back to him with matched enthusiasm, rushing around the counter to kneel at her childhood friend’s chair and place a hand on his knee, face twisting with concern for Yuuri, but joy at being able to see him again. Victor steps closer to the pair, smiling fondly at the reunion between the two.

“How have you been doing? You’ve been home for so long and we haven’t come to see you yet!” She exclaims, her jaw dropping slightly. Yuuri just laughs it off, “It’s fine,” He waves a hand through the air in dismissal of her apologies, “Victor and I wanted to come by the rink anyways,” He smiles up at his fiancé, looking back to the woman kneeled in front of him before gesturing vaguely to the pair of skates hanging at Victor’s side. 

“Oh! You’re here to skate, I take it?” Yuuko stands and brushes non-existent dust off of her pants, nodding in the direction of the doors that lead to the ice. Victor smiles in response, offering a grin to try and return her sweet disposition. He was working on being a bit like he was before he had become the serious person he seemed to be now, he was all sugary smiles and enthusiasm back then. Though, he didn’t know when the change had occurred. He still felt like that person, though he had to try a bit harder to show it off now.

Yuuri wheels himself forward a bit, surprisingly eager to go watch someone else skate. Victor briefly remembers the box of posters underneath the bed he and his fiancé share, ever so carefully packaged, and it dawns on him that Yuuri truly does think of his skating as monumental, or at least he had. Maybe that was why he wanted to see Victor skate so much, maybe it would remind him of when he was young. When he used to watch the older man skate and practice daily at this very rink. Or maybe it was like Yuuri himself had said, that it was some sort of therapy to still be near the ice, despite his condition.

In a few awkwardly placed steps, trying to stay out of the way of the wheelchair, Victor makes his way into the innards of the rink, hoisting himself to sit on the wall that separated the ice and the hard floor. Casting a glance at Yuuri, he laces his skates quickly, trying not to make a show out of the preparation. 

“Yuuri.” Victor surprises himself, calling out without considering it first. He lets his feet swing to the floor, his skate guards clinking noisily as he strides over to his fiance, who sits in a spot where he’ll be able to survey Victor skating easily. 

“Thank you, for wanting this for me.” He leans down, cupping Yuuri’s cheek and pressing a chaste kiss to the top of his head. This had been the wheelchair-bound man’s idea, after all. He had the idea for Victor to skate because he knew it would help him to loosen up and get back in touch with what he truly loves.The extent of Yuuri’s care for his fiancé caused a warm feeling to bubble up from Victor’s throat and his skin to flush the slightest shade of pink. 

“I don’t want you to think that I’m jumping back into skating like this is an opportunity for success.”  Victor says softly, looking Yuuri in the eyes, complete seriousness washing over his face. It was all too easy to assume that the older man was rushing back into his career because he no longer had to train his student, but that was far from the truth. Victor felt the pull to return to the ice ever since he had left, but he had known then that his break was long overdue, and training Yuuri had been a one-in-a-lifetime experience that he would trade for absolutely  _ nothing _ . Meeting the young, Japanese skater at the banquet had felt like a chance encounter, something intricately wound by fate.

“Never, Victor,” Yuuri returns the serious look, interrupting the thoughts swimming through his head. “I  _ want _ this. For you and for me.” Victor had only been talking about coming back to the Ice Castle to relieve some of his nerves, but the underlying meaning of going back to the world of figure skating, like Yuuri had asked him to just the other day, still crept behind the words he said. Yuuri wanted Victor to return to his  _ career, _ not just the ice. 

Not being able to help himself, the older man presses another kiss to his fiance, this time on his temple, and turns to head to the rink’s edge. 

Gliding out on the ice, Victor feels like he’s returned home after years of being out to sea, closing his eyes and leaning into the pull of the skates beneath him. It’s a wonderful sensation, the way the rink flashes before him as he turns on the edge of his blade, the familiar tune of scraping against the ice sending shivers through every cell in his being. Yuuri, watching him with those intense brown eyes of his, smiles to himself, glad to see Victor letting go.

It’s the way the corners of the Yuuri’s mouth turn up that lets the skating man finally conclude on the request he’d made earlier. Gliding towards the center of the rink gracefully, Victor pushes off into a well-executed jump, landing moderately. A few more agile spins send him closer to the edge of the rink, and he leans over the wall to glance at Yuuri, smiling vaguely. 

“I guess that means you’re going back to skating?”

Yuuko stands in the doorway, giggling gently and smiling at the way Victor looks at Yuuri with loving eyes. She cocks her head, pushing her question further, and Yuuri’s encouraging smile in his direction gives Victor the strength to answer with what he’s wanted to all along.

“I suppose I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say thanks for reading, it means a lot. I'm trying to improve my style and the only way is through practice, practice, practice!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I was a bit late with this!

“Night, Victor!”

 

Mari waves her hand once and he waves back suavely, smiling as he rounds the corner that leads to the hallway where he and Yuuri’s room is. He had been relaxing in the main room with Yuuri’s sister for a while, but skating earlier that day had still worn him out. Despite being the five-time Grand Prix champion, his knees burn when he bends them too far and his back aches up the middle to the base of his neck. 

 

Shaking his head, Victor comes to stand in front of the door. Before he can enter, though, the sound of shifting on the bed, easily heard through the wall, startles him. What was Yuuri doing to move around so much? The other man had requested to go to bed early, but Victor hadn't thought anything of it at the time. Was he okay?

 

The idea of Yuuri somehow managing to hurt himself crosses the older man’s mind, and his eyes widen involuntarily, alarmed by the thought. An image of his fianc é lying on the bed, in pain and unwilling to call out for help because of his pride,  flashes before Victor’s eyes, and he pushes the door open a bit too quickly.  Padding into the room cautiously,  he peers into the bed, searching for any signs of struggling. All that he sees is Yuuri, lying on his side, seemingly in no pain at all. 

 

_ ‘Ah, so he was just turning in his sleep,”  _ Victor can’t help the puff of air he releases as a sign of relief, running a hand through his hair and trying to clear the haunting thoughts he’d had a second earlier. A warm feeling bubbles up from his chest as he observes Yuuri in his sleep, constricting his heart ever so gently. He always gets these feelings when he looks at his fiancé, but they’re amplified tenfold when the younger man is sleeping, his face resting peacefully. Or, so he had thought.

 

“Yuuri?”

A moment ago, Victor had stepped closer to the bed and leaned in a little so he could look at Yuuri, but the ‘sleeping’ man had flinched away  _ ever _ -so-slightly, turning his face in towards the pillows so he couldn’t be seen. Convinced that the other man wasn’t sleeping, simply faking it, Victor crouches next to the bed and runs his fingertips along the pale nape of his neck, exposed due to laying on his side, and blows a breath of warm air against the back of his ear. 

 

He was being playful, tapping against Yuuri’s bare shoulder blade and smiling to himself. Victor just thought that maybe the other was faking sleep because he was tired or because he had woken up and planned on going right back to sleep. Suddenly, he tenses up, body going stiff, despite the touches being light and well-meaning, and Victor knows something isn’t right. Usually, whether or not he wanted to be awake, Yuuri would’ve giggled by now, or turned his head to look at his fiancé with sleepy, loving eyes. All he’d done was tense up and move away. Yes, something certainly isn’t right.

  
  


Victor hops up onto the bed, careful not to disturb the careful placement of the other man’s legs. He can see the way that Yuuri shudders, his shoulder blades trembling. Was he crying? 

 

Shuffling closer on his knees, the older man leans over the shaking form. “Yuuri? What’s wrong?” Caressing the shoulder exposed to him, Victor moves so close that his knees are near Yuuri’s chest, and he leans over to push soft, black bangs out of the way of closed eyes. In the soft light from the bedside lamp, it’s easy to make out tear tracks against porcelain skin. Despite his eyes being closed, small, crystal teardrops tug at the corners and he turns away, forcing his face into the pillow so Victor can’t see him anymore. Yuuri looks dreadfully beautiful, messy black hair spilling over his forehead and his pale complexion giving off a faint shine in the darkness. The way his body’s turned at the shoulders made his collarbone stick out roughly, and Victor leans in warily, pressing his lips to the stretched skin. 

 

“I’m sorry,” He leaves another kiss, reaching under the blankets to grasp for Yuuri’s hand. “I’m here,” A soft trail of kisses leads from the smaller man’s collarbone to his jawline, where Victor parts his lips to speak again, but can’t find anything to say. He doesn’t have to ask what’s wrong, that much is obvious. After he formally announced that he’d be returning for one final season, Yuuri must be distraught, despite saying he wanted this.

 

“It’s my fault, I’m so sorry,” Victor squeezes their hands together, rubbing his thumb in slow circles over the other’s knuckles. Although he protested it at first, he had become excited, too eager, even, to return to the ice for one last time. No matter how bad he feels, Victor contains himself, not allowing himself to become emotional. This was about Yuuri, how he was feeling, and the emotions he’d obviously been bottling up. He should have been more considerate, he shouldn’t have wanted to go to the rink so badly, despite Yuuri being the one to suggest it. 

 

“No,” Victor can feel the other man’s jaw move underneath his lips. Yuuri turns his shoulder back so he’s lying flat, taking Victor’s free hand with him so it braces the larger man against the mattress. “No, it’s not, Victor.” His eyes open slightly, and even though they’re glazed over with tears and half-lidded, that special shade of brown that Victor just can’t quite put his finger on mesmerizes him. 

 

Yuuri’s hand leaves his side, abandoning his fianc é’s as he brings it up to rest on Victor’s cheek, his thumb pressing sternly into the other man’s chin. “It’s not anyone’s fault.” He takes a deep breath, looking anywhere but at Victor, who's still perched over him, braced on his knees and hands. “But you have to-” His voice cracks and Victor can barely stand the sound. He wants to dive in and litter Yuuri’s face with kisses, to beg for forgiveness for all that’s happened. 

 

“You have to understand.” He makes eye contact again, stroking his thumb over Victor’s chin once. “It’s going to take me a little while,” His other hand reaches up to rest on his fiancé’s broad chest, “To be fully happy again.”  Yuuri’s fingers fist themselves in Victor’s neckline, and he drags the taller man closer, pressing their lips together gently.

 

Despite the small sparks of electricity that shoot through everywhere that Victor is touching Yuuri, he pulls away after a chaste moment, looking down at the other’s face. Dried tears stain his cheeks and his eyes are closed even though they’re no longer kissing. How long had he been lying here, immobile, crying to himself? The thought that Yuuri had wanted to go to his room to process Victor’s return to his career, and it eventually breaking him into tears, makes the skater rethink his choices. Was this the right thing to do?

 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Yuuri’s eyes snap open and his melancholy expression turns into one of slight disappointment. “I told you that I want you to go back too. I meant it.” He wiggles to sit up against the headboard, forcing Victor to stop hovering over him and sit back on his ankles. 

“Don’t let this stop you. I just,” Yuuri takes another deep breath, “I just need time.”

 

Victor nods slowly, swallowing the lump in his throat or at least attempting to. Yuuri wanted him to go back after all? It was painfully obvious to someone who cared about the injured man that he had been hiding the depression he felt because of the incident, and only an idiot would think that a week would have Yuuri back to himself. _ ‘Why didn’t I think of him more?’ _

 

“I’m selfish.”

 

“No. Victor, You’re really not. Your life has to go on, you can’t put this on hold. You’re turning thirty in two years.” 

 

Yuuri crosses his arms, leaning back further into the pillows. It was true, this was Victor’s last chance at another season. Thirty wasn’t old, but it wasn’t young and nimble either like he had been when he won his last few competitions. 

 

“Call Yakov, Vitya.”

 

Eyes widening, Victor looks down at his lap. That would be tough, but out of everyone he’d been considering, the only coach who would leave their country to help him with his last season would be his original one. The nickname, though, has pink dusting high on Victor’s cheeks, and the smallest hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. 

  
“It’ll be okay.” Yuuri’s matching, almost transparent smile, despite the salty tear tracks on his face, brings Victor a little bit of hope.

 

* * *

Victor stood outside of his shared room, leaning against the closed door. He was on a mission today, and he could see sunlight streaming through a window to his right. He had barely slept, holding Yuuri in his arms all night. 

Rising his phone to his ear, he clears his throat gently, ready to speak. When the line clicks and a gruff tone answers him, obviously being woken too early in his timezone, he grounds himself on the thought that this is what he wants, what  _ Yuuri _ wants.

“Hello, Yakov. I’d like to ask you something.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a chapter for Yuri and Yakov, really. I enjoyed it though!

Three days ago, Victor had called his former coach. He was a mix of nervous and thrilled at the time, but it hadn’t stopped him from keeping an even, formal tone as he announced his plans to Yakov and inquired if he’d be willing to come and coach him in Japan. It had been hours of conversation, exhausting not only mentally, to plan, but physically. Holding the phone up for so long had left a cramp in his elbow.

 

Yakov might not be training Victor anymore, but he was still training the other Russian skaters. To arrange for them all to flock to Japan for their entire course of training was a bold thing to try, or even just to ask about. Housing all five of the Russians, including Victor, would be another challenge. Yuuri’s parents were kind and accommodating, but their son’s fiancé was the only one staying there as of now. 

 

Eventually, after some tiresome, headache-inducing planning, he and Yakov had come to an agreement. Yuri and the coach would come and stay in Japan, at the Hasetsu Castle, and Georgi and Mila would train with Yakov part-time. Yakov and the other two would fly back and forth, while Yuri would simply remain in Japan. Much to his chagrin, Victor was sure. The phone calls made in his native tongue had earned many a strange stare from the patrons of the inn, especially considering how exasperated he sounded after dialing Georgi for the sixth time. 

 

Victor stands on his toes, peering above the small throngs of people to look for who he was waiting for. He had made it to the airport way before the scheduled time, but he couldn’t help it. The soft pulse of excitement that races through him now had woken him much too early in the morning, and it had been impossible to ignore. They had to be here somewhere, but how could he miss them? Maybe they were-

 

“Oi! Victor!”

 

His face breaks into a smile at the oh-so-familiar voice, and he turns on his heels to find it’s owner. Behind him, the only place he had yet to look, stands, in all his “Russian Fairy” Glory, The one and only Yuri Plisetsky. The older man rushes over, his shoes clicking against the floor and squeaking slightly as he comes to a sudden stop in front of the young skater. Without thinking, Victor throws his arms around the younger, squeezing him tight. Despite Yuri’s yelling and the blows delivered to his shoulder blades, He refuses to let go, only dropping the wriggling boy when he sets his eyes on Yakov.  

 

“Yakov! It’s good to see you!”

 

Victor hops forward enthusiastically, smiling broadly at his former, now current, coach. It feels great to see faces he recognizes clearly, people who he trusts thoroughly. Yuuri’s family was kind, but he couldn’t help but, to feel he was a sore thumb in their humble, but cozy inn and even in their life itself. Yakov, trying to disguise his smile with a scowl, steps forward as well and places a hand on Victor’s shoulder.

 

The last time they had been together in person was when the accident had happened, and he had been an absolute wreck in front of everyone. Though he was well justified in his tears and shaky behavior. Victor’s ecstatic to have the two here with him in Japan, partly excited for his one last season, and also glad just to see the two other Russians.

 

“It’s good to see you too.” He allows his smile to show, gesturing for Yuri, who’s still complaining about being hugged, standing behind Victor and gesturing eccentrically. The shortest of the trio comes to join them, stuffing his hands in his pockets and staring his former rinkmate in the face with an expression trying too hard to come off as anger. Victor knows he’s glad to be here as well, even if he tries his best to act tough.

 

“Where’s Katsudon?” 

 

Yuri frowns, readjusting his suitcase strap over his shoulder as he glances around. Yakov nods once as if he was wondering the same thing, and the man in question sighs, running a finger over his lips as he begins to explain. “Yuuri stays at home mostly, it’s, ahem-” Victor clears his throat, moving his hand from his lips to his chin, “It’s harder for him to get around now.”

 

A moment of silence passes through the group, but he’s not sure whether it's awkward or out of respect for his fiancé back at home. Yuri shifts on his heels, his hightops moving stiffly against his black skinny jeans, and Yakov reaches up to adjust his felt hat, brushing his fingers over the brim of it. Victor smoothes out some minor wrinkles in the thighs of his pants and sighs, stepping forward to grab one of Yakov’s bags.

 

“Let’s go then,” He chirps, a soft feeling of happiness lying over his shoulders like a kind of blanket. Though, there was an impending anxiety at the thought of Yuuri back at home. Would he be comfortable with more people staying at the inn full time, even if he knew them? The worry for the man at their shared home bores a small hole in the passion that is rising in Victor’s chest. He doesn’t want to ruin the mood of their reunion, but he refuses to _ not  _ think about Yuuri in a time like this.

  
  


The ride home was quiet but comfortable. Yuri had put in a pair of earbuds, leaned into the window of the car, and pouted like a forlorn teenager. Which, Victor supposes, is what he acts like sometimes. He and Yakov had made small talk, discussing minor details about the upcoming training season, and it had brought the silver-haired man a bit of relief when he realized they were back to the Hasetsu Castle. It wasn’t that he suddenly didn’t enjoy their company, but simply that he was missing Yuuri. He hadn’t spent more than an hour separated from him ever since the incident, and he didn’t plan on breaking that record now.

 

“Hello, We’re here!”

 

Victor steps in through the door to the main room, setting down one of Yakov’s bags and hurrying Yuri and his coach inside so he can shut the door back to its original position. Noticing the commotion, Yuuri’s mother looks up from her work and smiles, waving to the newcomers kindly. Someone calls out to them, bounding over to stand next to Yuri. 

 

“Hey! So great to see you again, Yurio!”  Yuuko leans in, her hands clasped in front of her waist. She’s emanating that sense of excitement and positivity as always, and despite hating the nickname, the blond doesn’t react as crankily ad Victor would’ve expected. Instead, he greets Yuuko, Yuuri’s mother, and Mari, who had just waltzed into the room, a cigarette in her fingers, with a simple hello and a slight wave. Yakov is polite as well, setting his bags down before formally greeting them himself.

 

Victor is startled by one of Yuuko’s daughters running past him, the other two in hot pursuit as if the first had stolen something from them. It wasn’t unusual to see the Nishigori’s here, but he’s still a bit surprised at the current state of the main room. This is the most people he's seen here in the past week. Everyone is standing at the moment, greeting the two new additions with smiles and handshakes, even though Yuri looks miserable through most of it. Except-

 

“Where’s Yuuri?”

 

Victor frowns, his gaze flickering around the room before he spots his fiancé at the end of the hallway that leads to their room. He’s smiling, his eyes glistening behind his glasses, and he calls out, “Hello, Yuri! Hello, Coach Yakov!” As he pushes the chair forwards, arms working back and forth. Everyone seems to take note of Yuuri’s presence, moving out of his way so he can come closer. 

 

Glancing to the fifteen-year-old to his right, Victor surveys the look on Yuri’s face. He seems a bit shocked as if he hadn’t expected what had unfolded before his very eyes at the Grand Prix to be true, he  _ had _ been there, after all. Still, he can understand how the flippant, young skater is taken aback by seeing a fellow competitor in a wheelchair. Yuri doesn’t seem to have a response, dryly licking his lips as he gazes down at Yuuri, who had made his way to sit beside Victor. He usually would’ve responded with a smart-ass remark by now, smirking to himself and flipping his blond hair over his shoulder, Victor didn’t have to wonder as to know why he was holding himself back. Yuri might’ve had an attitude, but he was still sensitive, and seeing Yuuri’s-  _ situation _ probably made him think twice about being sarcastic.

 

Yuuri’s mother breaks the silence, calling them all over to her as she welcomes the new guests. It was about time for their last meal anyways, and sitting over a plate of warm food to discuss how they would start the season off didn’t seem like a bad idea to Victor at all. 

 

Yuuri is sitting over nearer to the door, a little closer to where he had been a moment ago. With the Nishigori’s, his parents and sister, Yuri, Yakov, and Victor all crowded around the plates, it would be difficult to get close without running someone over. It was obvious that he was still getting used to just how much space the chair really took up. The first one to leave the mess of people is Yuri and he heads back over to the other man, sitting in his wheelchair. Victor doesn’t know whether that surprises him or not. Yuuri begins to talk, smiling animatedly and waving his hands a bit, and Yuri cracks a grin. The older man can’t hear what they’re saying over the chatter next to him, but he’s glad to see them interacting so kindly.

 

Victor moves a bit closer, forgetting about the madness over dinner behind him, and traipses over to stand near the two, smiling at them both. Over the sound of Yuuko scolding her triplets for something or other, and the hearty laughter of Yuuri’s father and Takeshi, he can hear words that he didn’t expect to, especially not in a room full of people.

 

“I hope you’re doing okay, Katsudon.” Yuri slaps the nickname on the end of the caring statement to make it seem more casual, but it’s obvious that Yuuri’s current state has him worried.

 

“I’m doing good actually,” Yuuri smiles and nods, his eyes falling on the scene in front of them. It was nice to see his family come together for a day, to welcome old friends back into their residence. ”Victor’s been taking care of me, he’s been there for me.” His smile softens into something much sweeter, but Yuri crinkles his nose in distaste.

 

“Ugh, you two make me sick sometimes.”

 

Yuuri just laughs, a beautiful sound in Victor’s ears, and he steps closer to the pair, unable to contain his own bout of laughter. It’s a nice moment, one that he plans to hold in his heart for days to come.

 

“Ready to start laying this out?” Yakov appears behind Victor, a plate balanced in his left hand. The man in question nods in affirmation, turning to face his coach as Yuri rolls his eyes, a smirk crossing his lips. 

 

The energy of excitement keeps Victor fueled, despite it being a bit late. They could start planning now, and the skater would be lying if he said he wasn’t thrilled at the idea of a final season.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a shorty, haha.

Victor’s head glistens with small beads of sweat, but he isn’t out of breath. He and Yuri have gone for a quick run, waking up early to get a head start on the day and get some exercise. It makes him feel vibrant and joyous, the way the wind messes his hair around and how his heart rate speeds up. He hasn’t had a chance to go on a run since before the Grand Prix. Yuri jogs alongside him, short, blond hair bobbing up and down as his feet carry him ahead of Victor by a few feet. The proposal of a morning run hadn’t been a challenge, but he’s glad to accept the younger’s change in speed as one, picking up the pace to overtake Yuri. 

 

“It’s not a race.” The blond huffs, disdain obvious in his tone. Whether he had meant the pace change as a request to race or not, Victor still enjoys teasing his old rinkmate by speeding up even further, calling back to him with a teasing Russian phrase. Yuri shouts behind him, catching up in a few, quick strides and slapping the older man’s shoulder out of frustration. It feels nice to spend time with the younger boy, even if he’s not quite a boy anymore. He had won the Grand Prix by a landslide, beating Victor’s own record with his awe-inducing skating. It’d be a lie if he said he wasn’t a bit sad to see his record go, but he had a chance to redeem himself. The thought of the future challenge burns a fire in his heart, and he laughs, almost sprinting back in the direction of the inn, their run coming to a close. 

 

Yuri mumbles something about “old men” and their weird “old man behavior”, but Victor pretends not to hear, humming contentedly to himself as he hops up the steps to the entrance. It had been exactly a day since Yakov had arrived in Hasetsu, bringing the fifteen-year-old gold-medalist along as well, and he was genuinely excited, a small flow of happiness constantly oozing from him. It felt natural, it was like he had felt not long ago, before the Finals. Like he had felt when- Despite being a twenty-eight-year-old man, pink blooms high on Victor’s cheeks at the memory, remembering it fondly. 

 

-Well, when Yuuri had bought those rings for the pair of them.

 

Yuri gives him a gentle shove as he passes him, it’s a playful act, and it causes his grin to widen as he waltzes into the entrance of the inn. Yuuri is sitting in the main room, a bowl balanced on top of his lap as he watches the television. His face is content, relaxed, and it makes Victor smile as he makes his way over to the other man, kissing him promptly on the top of his head. Yuuri startles a bit, hands moving to secure his bowl, empty, the older now realizes, and he makes quick eye contact before breaking into a matching grin. 

 

“How was the run?” He looks expectantly between Victor and Yuri, who’s kicking off his shoes. The blond answers first, nodding once and giving a thumbs up, a trait he’s seemed to develop into a habit after the Grand Prix. Victor nods in agreement, “It was good!” He smiles, holding up his own thumbs up that causes Yuri to cringe and roll his eyes. 

  
  


Yuuri laughs quietly, waving as the teen excuses himself to his room, muttering about not wanting to stick around and see the two act like star-struck lovers. Despite his attitude, Victor knows that Yuri is glad for them somewhere in his heart. He smiles to himself, looking at his hands and closely observing his gold band, something he’s made into quite an addictive habit. Speaking of these rings… Victor swallows, a thought crossing his mind quickly. He’d made a promise to Yuuri, they’d marry if he won gold. But now…

 

“Yuuri? I’d like to ask you something.” He steps closer to the other, surprising himself with his own intrepidity, glancing down at him with gleaming eyes. Something inside of him is a little nervous, and he quickly averts his eyes to make sure no one else is around. Victor typically has no shame, but this was private, between him and the one he adored so much. Yuuri meets his eyes easily, obviously unaware of the older man’s thoughts. The way he had been in the hotel in Barcelona, before the Grand Prix, had brought him to tears, and the idea of his fiance rejecting the idea he’s just had makes him feel as though it might happen again. He knows, though, that there’s no time like the present.

 

“If I go to the Grand Prix Finals and win the gold-” He stops short, and places a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder, who reaches his own hand up to intertwine their fingers. He hesitates to finish the sentence, but the curiosity in the other’s eyes drives him forward. “Would you consider following through,” He pulls his hand from Yuuri’s, caressing the ring on his finger gently, “with this?” 

 

_ “Oh.”   _

 

The noise that escapes his throat is quiet, barely more than a gasp. Victor’s heart practically stops as it sinks, what did that mean? He hadn’t expected the other to react like a joyous child, but he didn’t expect this anxious reaction either. Or did he? He doesn’t know what he thought would happen, but before he can take back what he said, or try to rephrase it, Yuuri interrupts him.

 

“Yes, Victor.” His eyes are serious and he places his hands on either side of Victor’s cheeks, forcing him to keep eye contact, even though he’s flushed dull red and gazing at the floor dejectedly. He has already assumed that he has asked too much of Yuuri too soon. He truly wants to marry the younger man, the idea of living with him in his home in St. Petersburg makes his chest feel warm and his head fills with domestic, achingly sweet thoughts.

 

“Victor.” Yuuri is squeezing his jaw gently, leaning in to stare him down.  Victor swallows deeply, closing his eyes and closing the gap between them to kiss the other gently. Though, the realization that they’re out in the open causes him to pull back suddenly, eyes wide. He normally wouldn’t care, but he’s feeling especially vulnerable, and Yuuri is understanding of the fact, allowing the quick kiss to break off with ease.

 

The sound of Yakov calling for him shatters the tenderness of the moment. If he won gold, Yuuri would marry him. The thought makes Victor almost giddy, like a young schoolgirl, he thinks. Though he doesn’t want to leave his fiance there alone, he now has an even bigger goal when it comes to prepping for his season, He smiles, glad he had asked and leaves another kiss on Yuuri’s cheek. They share a quick goodbye before Victor goes off to find Yakov, and the other man watches him go with a fond smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm planning on writing a second story to this, all from Yuuri's POV, so it will revolve much more around him. It'll be a bit later down the line, though, as I have some other good ideas in the making :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This features a POV change to Yuuri bc reasons. In the follow-up this last chapter will be in Victor's POV respectively.

_A few months later._

* * *

 

“It’s nearly time for the first competition, you know.”

 

Yuuri smiles up at Mila, who stands at his side, her hand on her hip. She and Georgi had finally flown to Hasetsu to practice their allotted time with Yakov, and the Russians had come to the Ice Castle to skate. Yuuko had simply handed her old friend the keys and left, reminding him to lock up for her after they left. The girl nods firmly, returning his smile with her own lopsided one. She’s kind, all of the skaters are, and Yuuri truly appreciates when they treat him with the same respect they would if he was still a skater.

 

Watching Victor skate is a truly satisfying experience. He’s chosen his program already, and the way his body gracefully flows with each spin and jump has Yuuri enticed as if he was twelve again. He stares with an awed expression as he executes his second quad with beautiful accuracy and has to restrain himself from clapping when he finishes, both arms raising over his head with a flourish. Mila laughs at something Yuri’s said, gliding past the wall separating the ice and the floor. He shoots the pair a look over his shoulder and rolls his eyes, but smiles ever so slightly. Yuuri watches the young skater pass, grinning at him encouragingly. It was comforting to be surrounded by people who didn’t patronize him for his position.

 

Victor finishes with his short program practice and hops off the ice, leaning on the wall to readjust his weight. He’s a little way down from Yuuri and he makes his way over to him and Mila, greeting the latter with a Russian phrase that the Japanese-speaker doesn’t understand. He’s picked up quite a few character traits from the older man, and even learned a bit of his native tongue, but he doesn’t know everything. Not yet anyways. Though, he knows he has his whole life ahead of him to learn. His whole life with Victor.

 

Yuuri greets him without words, tilting his head up to accept a soft kiss to the top of his head instead. It’s the other man’s favorite way to greet him, and who is he to deny the one who stayed with him for so long? “This is wonderful, Victor, I’m excited.” The skater nods, his grin spreading from ear-to-ear. He looks so happy that it practically oozes from the air around him and engulfs Yuuri in the pleasant warmth of the emotion. When he’s happy, it’s hard to not be happy as well. Victor is just an emotionally contagious person.

 

“I’m excited as well. It’s such gift to be on the ice again.”  

 

Next to the pair, Mila is lacing up her skates, pulling off the guards to glide out to join Yuri and Georgi near the center of the rink. Looking a bit relieved to be alone for a moment, Victor steals another kiss, this time on his fiancé's forehead, and crouches a bit to look Yuuri in the eye. “How are you?” His happy demeanor switches quickly, like flipping a switch, into one of deep concern. His cyan eyes look almost dark cerulean under his long lashes, leaning in even closer as if he’s sharing a secret.

 

“I’m alright, Vitya,” Yuuri shuts his eyes, but he doesn’t let his smile fade. Though it’s more bittersweet than joyful now. “I’m excited for this season, really. I just need time, like I told you.” Victor doesn’t say anything, instead, he leans in and grips the other’s chin with his slender fingers and gives him a chaste kiss. He pulls away, standing up straight and scrutinizing the rink, as if he’s looking to see if anyone noticed. As it’s been said, the shameless man normally wouldn’t care, but the last thing he wants is for Yakov to yell at him for taking too long a break.

 

Yuuri still doesn’t open his eyes, leaning back in his chair and savoring the lingering warmth on his lips. He hears Victor readjusting his skate guards, balancing fealty on one leg as he does so. They’d only been here training for one or two hours, but Mila can still be heard complaining about too much work, only to be chastised by Yakov. Yuri calls out to Victor with a, “Hurry up!” and some grumbles about him being over-attached to ‘the katsudon’. The older just chuckles to himself, stretching his back and smiling at Yuuri before going back to the ice, moving to where the others are gathered near the opposite edge of the rink speaking to Yakov.

 

He doesn’t know what they’re talking about, but judging by Victor’s laughter and the identical smiles on Georgi and Mila’s faces, he can guess Yakov has said something entertaining. Part of him desperately wishes he was over there, skating his heart out with Victor, training for another season. It makes his heart clench uncomfortably, but he doesn’t have any tears to cry. What he said is true, he truly is excited about Victor’s last season, the idea of spending the rest of his life with him is a comfort he never thought he’d be allowed. As much as he wants to be well again, to skate alongside his partner, Yuuri isn’t a dreamer any longer. He knows that he can take all the time he needs to sort out his emotions and come to terms with things.

 

Stroking the material on the arms of his wheelchair, he sighs. His mind drifts as time passes, the prospect of getting to travel with Victor forming in his thoughts. Would people hound him and ask him about his injuries and force him to relive the emotional instability he’s been living through the past few months? Would he see old friends like Christophe or Phichit again? And what would they think of him? His hands shake as he grips the wheelchair, staring off into space. _‘It’s all going to be okay.’_ Yuuri tells himself, returning his attention to the group on the other side. Yuri has skated away, practicing a step-sequence from his program, and he makes brief eye contact with the other.

 

“Hey.” He stops dead, grinding his skates into the ice and gliding closer. “What is it?” The blond is leaning over the edge of the rink, frowning and critically scanning the trembling man. He may not be the most loving person, but Yuri cares. Though Yuuri's not crying, he appears to be on the brink of doing just so, his hands shaking and his head lowered. Before he can look up to address the fifteen-year-old gold-medalist, he’s standing beside him, his skate guards clicking against the floor.

 

“You don’t look-”

 

“I’m okay, please.” He shifts in his wheelchair, hugging his shoulders with his arms. Still not making eye contact, or even looking at the other, he doesn’t notice when Yuri leans in and places an arm over his shoulders. He’s offering a hug, or some semblance of the action, his lanky arm resting against the other’s shoulder blades, kneeled next to the chair.

 

“Yuri-” The boy squeezes his shoulder, effectively shutting him up. It’s the unspoken words that matter the most, he supposes. It’s obvious what the smaller boy is trying to say. _‘I know you aren’t feeling well. I hope you feel better.’_

 

Yuuri can hear the voices of the other skaters approaching quickly, but he doesn’t have the heart to stop Yuri, whose head is turned downwards enough where he cannot see the incoming group. The chatter stops when they notice the two stuck in a sideways embrace. All it takes is for Victor to see the look on Yuuri’s face, and he’s off the ice, placing a hand on the youngest’s back and wrapping his other arm around his fiance’s shoulders as well. The weight of both arms on his back is comfortable and welcome, and he’s warmly surprised when Yuri doesn’t pull away.

 

Yuri truly means this as a symbol of care or understanding, staying put in a situation where the normal version of the boy would’ve quickly retracted and played off the hug as an accident. Yuuri’s face is buried against Victor’s neck, but he can feel someone else put their arms around the men on either side of him, Mila, he presumes. He can hear Georgi and Yakov in front of them, their voices are kind and quiet, respecting the moment. Yuuri has never been more glad to have these people in his life. These people who know that he needs time, that he needs support, and he can’t help the tear the rolls down his cheek as he moves an arm around the shoulders of Victor and Yuri in return.

 

Moving his head so he can speak, Yuuri closes his eyes and mutters a phrase he’s used very few times in his life. He means this to all of them, but Victor is the one that floods his mind, surrounded by his arms and his scent. The one who asked to marry him, the one who saved him and made him back into a whole person, the one who _understands._

 

_“I love you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There'll be a bonus up in a few minutes. I enjoyed writing this and I hope you enjoyed reading! There'll be a follow-up to this from Yuuri's POV because I made this from mostly Victor's, but it'll be a lil' while before I get it up. I have some other good ideas I wanna work on before then. Thanks for reading!!


	11. Chapter 11

 

Victor stands on a podium, a camera-worthy smile stretching across his face as he holds a gold medal in his hand. To his right is Yuri, standing proudly with the silver match to his gold hanging around his neck.

 

_ “Victor Nikiforov’s program was dedicated to his student from the previous year, Katsuki Yuuri. He skated with such emotion today!” _

 

The chatter of the announcers is blurred by the cheers from the crowd and the shouts of reporters, coaches, and family alike. Images of what could’ve been Yuuri standing here smear the pride of winning gold across his mind, and the tears in his eyes are mistaken as ones of joy when matched with the smile on his lips. But he’s not sad, no. He’s grieving for the one he dedicated his entire season to, the one waiting for him off the rink, sitting in a wheelchair with matching, crystalline tears shining over his hickory-colored eyes. His theme this year was simply: Katsuki Yuuri. He gave no reason to the reporters, though it could be implied, and the world was shocked at his return. Emotionally marred at the beauty of a coach returning to the ice in the name of his forcibly retired protege. 

 

Yuuri himself had broken into tears one late night when Victor had announced that he was dedicating his season to his lover, admitting that the younger man was the only reason he ever made it through the past few years. His skating had been reflective of all that he felt for his fiancé. From the anguish and guilt he felt at the beginning, to the slow process of grief and healing he had experienced alongside the injured skater. It was a personal program, one that he never revealed the meaning of to the press.

 

Victor’s vision is hazy, but he can still see the gold shimmering against his pale skin. He drops the medal to hang loosely around his neck, focusing in on the object of his interest. As the other two skaters on the podium with him raise their medals to kiss them for the cameras, Victor kisses his ring, cradling his bent elbow with his other arm. He’s waited much too long for this.

 

The only thing on his mind is the man waiting for him at the kiss and cry, bearing the match to the band he’s currently presenting. Smiling to himself, the flashes of cameras long forgotten, Victor begins to wonder what type of wedding Yuuri would prefer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! I enjoyed writing this lil' tidbit and I really enjoyed writing and learning more about my writing style through this. I'll have more fics up soon!! 
> 
> (this is a flash forward to the end of Victor's season btw, the last chapter ended right before the season began, which is why everyone was at practice :) )


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